F () H E S T AND S T R E A M 
591 
BBSS 
Sniping It Along the Shores of Long Island 
A Barefoot Trip From Port Washington to Montauk, with 
a Stop at “Good Spots’’ on the South Shore 
By W. G. Beecroft. 
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lUMKafiSfli 
T HE “Barefoot Boy and his coat of tan,” was 
envied by Whittier but to no greater ex¬ 
tent than should be the lucky man 
who can take a week to trudge almost au 
naturel along the coast of Long Island in 
search of the shore bird. It’s a trip ideal, 
not only for its bevies of the long bills, its 
moonlights and sunrises but too for its striped 
bass, snapper, blackfish and tuna fishing. We 
heeded the call of the camp writer who sighs 
“travel light” and headed from the “Penn” sta¬ 
tion loaded to the scuppers with a Remington 
Automatic, twelve; a Marlin pump sixteen and 
the indispensable Marble game getter, over and 
under 22 gauge and 44, which takes the 28 shot 
cartridge. Our clothing was of ancient vintage, 
worn to fit. To this was added two Bristol steel 
rods, a three piece cooking outfit, a bait net, a 
piece of bacon, a silk canoe tent, an Airedale 
terrier and a pair of tickets to Port Washington. 
Our train landed us at the “Port” in time for a 
stop over at the Victoria, where the genial 
sportsman proprietor, Walter Mullon, gave us 
much advice and some sustenance. Then on to a 
large fish supper at Bradley’s, after which we 
took to the beach and stuck up our shelter. At 
four-thirty, arrayed in bathing suits and bare feet, 
we hiked eastward along the sandy shores. When 
we had rounded the light house at Sands Point 
two yellow legs got up, and in three shots we got 
’em both. The snipe is notorious as an uncer¬ 
tain bird- “where \ou think he is, he ain’t”- as a 
native put the proposition, and where he was yes¬ 
terday. he has vacated today. And so many of 
the “favorite spots” among local gunners brought 
forth no bag. Along the shores of Hempstead 
Harbor there were signs, but it ended there. An 
arduous trip past Sea Cliff, Glen Cove and we 
struck Bayville, where between two rocky points 
we started a bunch of nine plover. Oorang, our 
Airedale, who loves hunting and swimming like 
a human, worked between the points, while Ches, 
our partner, took one point while I in the trenches 
took on the other. 'Oorang entertained the birds 
with his antics while Ches and I pulled them 
down, one at a time, until we had cleaned out the 
entire flock. But they were thin—woefully thin. 
We decided upon a course dinner, so while 
Ches went neck deep and treaded for hard clams. 
I went out to the point and fished for snappers. 
In an hour I had creeled forty fat, glistening 
snappers, while in the mean time Ches had basket¬ 
ed two dozen hard clams. A visit to the farm house 
on the hill netted us a pint of milk, a loaf of 
bread and a piece of buttter. For be it said in a 
whisper, the coast dwelling Long Island farmer is 
hospitality a la Virginia. 
We dined on little necks, snappers and plover, 
and tumbled into bed, done to a turn. It won’t 
be worth while dwelling on our kills for a day 
or two, or until we struck Oriental Point. Here 
we ran into a flock of yellow legs, in which there 
must have been two hundred. Unlike their foolish 
brothers they refused to stay bunched between 
two points. Oorang could not cajole them into 
air-lining between us. They broke up into small 
bunches and flew wild. Finally after getting into 
one of the Frank Lawrence reed suits we robbed 
the flocks of seven yellow legs. The shooting 
between here and Montauk was not worth men¬ 
tion, although the snapper fishing was good for 
quarter pounders at every take, and we took four 
big blue fish in Plum Gut, and used nothing but 
a Jamison coaxer and a silver side. At Mon¬ 
tauk the snipe and plover shooting is wonderful. 
We bagged twenty-nine yellow legs and twelve 
plover. It is hardly fair not to mention the man 
here who located the birds for us, because he will 
do the same for you. 
When we took all the birds we felt we could 
use we rowed across to Block Island for a try 
at tuna. Jim supplied us with bait and the boat. 
We had the questionable joy of seeing a big one 
taken from another boat but we did not get a 
strike in our boat. However, it may be said 
truthfully that this is one of the best tuna fishing 
grounds in the world. In fact it is the home of 
the wealthiest tuna club to be found anywhere. 
A small steamer makes the trip from Sag Harbor 
to Block Island and in any of the harbors around 
the island tuna guides and rigs are to be had at 
four dollars a day. From Montauk Point we 
streaked it afoot to MonUuk village, where, after 
sprucing up as best our wardrobe permitted, took 
the Long Island railroad to Promised Land (a 
misnomer), where we trailed across toward The 
Springs. 
In this section we saw two female deer, three 
covies of quail, probably thirty-five in all, and a 
black duck with a late brood of twelve ducklings 
not more than a month old. They were quite 
curious over the Airedale as he scampered along 
the edge of the marsh, but at sight of us, they 
flew, swam and ran down the pond and lost them¬ 
selves in the rushes. Hiking back to the beach 
line, we drilled along to Good Ground. All 
along we started covies of yellow legs and 
“teeters” but they were wild and our bag average 
was low. 
Last year Forest and Stream published a story 
by Dr. Thomas telling of the black bass fishing 
in Wildwood Lake, south of Riverhead. We con¬ 
cluded to prove it and started across country. 
One native after another denied knowledge of 
any such lake as Wildwood. After meandering 
about for half a day we came to a lake that fitted 
the description painted by the Doctor. It proved 
to be Wildwood, but is known to locals as Old 
Pond or somethi g else equally rhythmic. We 
found a bunch of late summer boarders arrayed 
like heroes in a musical comedy. They were an- 
